Home
by ThisShipSailsItsSelf
Summary: Sherlock's POV. Something unspoken hangs in the air of 221B. Definitely the slashiest story I've written, first chapter could be interpreted as friendship, but after that it's romance. Chapter 19: Epilogue
1. Chapter 1

Home

They're sitting awkwardly in their respective seats, sipping tea. It's been precisely one week since Sherlock returned. The explanations have all been given. Anger vented. Tears shed. And now they're both left with the feeling that there's a gaping hole where all those things used to be.

Sherlock is floundering on the inside. He knows their friendship is restored. John has already forgiven. But their friendship as it was doesn't feel like enough to bridge this brand new space between them. This is not his area. He doesn't know where to begin. He speaks six languages fluently, but doesn't seem to have the vocabulary to express these thoughts to John. _Feelings…such rubbish._ When did he become so ordinary as to be prone to them?

Finally, John sets down his tea. He gets up and sits next to Sherlock. They stare at each other for a moment, and then without breaking eye contact, John weaves his hand through Sherlock's. His eyes dare Sherlock to deduce him to pieces. To pull away. But Sherlock doesn't. Instead, he slowly, _carefully,_ rests his head on Johns shoulder, tucking his feet up at the same time. Their hands remain clasped. Extraordinary John, dissolving the tension without speaking a word at all.

Sherlock isn't sure what this means, but John will take care of it. Of them. He trusts John to know what to do with these feelings. They are, after all, his area of expertise. John's head tilts to rest on Sherlock's, and Sherlock's eyes close as he finally feels himself relax. Finally feels himself to be home. He reaches the only logical conclusion: before he fell, 221B was home. But something had shifted in his time away, and now, _John_ was home.

**A/N Definitely the **_**least**_** ambiguous Johnlock story I've ever written. Still, Sherlock's POV can definitely be restricting when writing a touchy feely little fic like this, so there's a lot of implications, and hints, but not much actual slash… just doesn't seem as realistic. I always imagine Sherlock feels deeply, but not eloquently, and definitely not boldly. **

**Enough of MY take, what's YOURS? Too slashy? Not Slashy enough? In character? Out of character? Review and tell me! **

**P.S. Last story tonight, I swear! **


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a month since the first time John joined their hands. In all that time, they have never spoken about it. John doesn't seem to want to. Sherlock doesn't know _how_ to. He supposes it doesn't really need talking about. They had never needed words to describe their emotional connection, and after all, wasn't this hand holding just a physical representation of that previously established bond?

Outwardly, nothing's changed. They fight crimes, he forgets his pants, and John blogs about it, as John once aptly summarized. Sherlock still obsesses over a good murder, John still marvels and remonstrates. Only now, within the privacy of their flat, hand holding is common place. Sherlock's not sure why this has repaired things between him and John, he's only grateful it has.

Sometimes it's just a quick squeeze as John passes him. Sometimes, usually after they've both woken from nightmares featuring bloody pavements, they just sit for hours, grasping each other's hands like a lifeline. Sherlock's favourite, though, is post case, where he and John laugh over take away, then sit like they did that first night, with Sherlock all tucked up next to John on the couch, while watching crap telly. All these different versions have the same effect. A strange tightness in his chest. Uncomfortably pleasant. _An oxymoron, really? What's come over me?_ He doesn't worry too much though, if he were ill, mentally or otherwise, his Doctor would know by now. Would be able to fix him, as always.

Right now, however, is not a good time to be thinking such things, because he's having himself a panic. Earlier tonight, he almost lost his only friend to some second rate criminal spewing desperation and bullets. All these despicably co-dependant thoughts are merely a way to torture himself. He would know, he's an expert at self-destruction. John might not be there to fix him someday. And that thought brings enough pain to send a lesser man to his knees. Instead, Sherlock merely stops pacing, and focuses on keeping his face unreadable while he waits for the pain to subside. _Perhaps John isn't worth this pain, this fear_. He opens his mouth to say something to that effect to John, and demand he fix this, but he can't, because John is really, _very_ close to him right now, staring into his eyes.

A calloused hand reaches up to touch Sherlock's cheek, and he can't help but lean into the proffered comfort. He closes his eyes, and is surprised by the feeling of lips against his. Feather light. The moment he feels it he makes a sudden realization about the uncomfortable pleasantness. They were 'butterflies.' Pleased to have that sensation sorted appropriately, and more than pleased to have John lead him back to the couch by hand for some crap telly, Sherlock decides that_ home_ is worth the occasional pain.

**A/N The wonderful johnsarmylady wanted to see where this went, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that so do I! I've got one more chapter planned, but then, this was supposed to be a one-shot, so who knows? Hope this one lives up to the first! Review and let me know your thoughts! **


	3. Chapter 3

Seven weeks pass. Seven wonderful weeks filled with the touch and taste of John. If holding hands rebuilt their friendship, then kissing had strengthened it. They are rarer than hand holding, but he finds this makes him covet them more. They are soft and sweet and taste like tea.

John only kisses Sherlock when he is at an emotional extreme. Very happy, very sad, very excited or very angry. Sherlock often wonders if they provide an emotional reprieve for him. They do the opposite to Sherlock. One moment he'd be a perfectly functioning machine, the next John would become 'very' of some kind, kiss him, and unleash a tidal wave of emotions within his chest. _No, heart._ It had taken a few weeks to become aware of the distinction.

Nine days ago, he found the courage to attempt reciprocation. John had cracked a case wide open, and Sherlock wanted to let him know how deeply proud of him he was. As always when anything ran deep, he thought back to John as his model. When John was very proud, he kissed him. Sherlock enjoyed that. A reasonable hypothesis was that John would enjoy that as well. So he waited until they had returned home, and then he had kissed him. The smile that spread across John's face had made all the agonizing over whether or not it was the right course of action worth it.

Since then, things had evened up a little, but still, kisses were reserved for special occasions and good reasons. Sherlock considered this very reasonable, but his knowledge of romantic relationships, while admittedly gleaned from research for crimes of passion, pointed towards the fact that this was not the norm. So what then? Was there something more than friendship, but less than lovers? Was there a name for this in between? How could he frame that into a reasonable question for John?

After musing on like this for another hour, his mind was made. He would handle this the only way he knew how: by depending on John's ability to know the answers to questions Sherlock couldn't ask. He sat up abruptly, causing John to look up from his paper.

Hesitantly, Sherlock moved towards John, then, he pressed a quick, uncertain kiss to his lips. When he pulled away, he let his mask slip to reveal eyes swimming with questions. John seemed to take him in for an eternity before giving a quick, subtle nod.

"I love you." He stated abruptly and Sherlock was a drowning man all over again. "Do you love me?"

Sherlock did his best to beat back the tidal wave, then thought about it. Eventually he nodded his head in affirmation. "No Sherlock, these are words you have to say out loud." John reprimanded gently.

Sherlock was afraid. What if it came out wrong? Sentiment always came out wrong for him. Not to mention, John had misread his question…could he really still put his faith in him? Sherlock thought back to the night he first felt Johns hand in his, the first night Johns lips pressed against his own; yes, he could trust this man. He would just keep it short and to the point, just like john.

"Yes, John. I…I love you too." Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn't come out too bad. Perhaps a little too uncertain, but still, he'd spoken whilst not insulting anybody, pretty impressive if he did say so himself.

"Then there's the answer to your question, Sherlock: what we are, is 'in love.' And that's all there ever needs to be to it." He smiled encouragingly.

Sherlock's eyes lit up, even as he mentally berated himself for doubting John. Of course he had understood the question, he was _John_, for Godsakes. Together, they would figure this out. And they would do it on their own terms, at their own pace. Sherlock had never been more grateful to anyone in his entire life. With John, his heart was safe. With John, his heart was home.

**A/N All's well that ends well haha how'd I do? Sherlock's a little more emotionally aware in this one, but I gave him enough time to get there I think in between the last chapter and this one. This one is two milestones in one: first I-love-yous, and first 'relationship talk' **

**Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to review! It means the world to me :)**

**Please, let me know your thoughts! Also, if anyone has any requests for milestones you'd like to see them hit, I consider every and all suggestions ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Suggested by: Orchfan. Hope you like it!**

**\\ **

"What were you thinking?" John bellowed, his face bright red with anger. "No…no, you know what? I really don't want to know. I'm going for a walk. Try not to destroy any more of my childhood memories while I'm gone." He huffed. Sherlock closed his eyes, he didn't want to see John so angry at him.

The door slammed. John had left. Sherlock felt like he'd gone into shock. His whole body was numb as he opened his eyes and moved to sit on the couch. He hadn't meant to make John angry. He had only wanted to test how long it took acid to burn through an album. He'd been too enthralled to stop and realize it was Johns prized photo album he held in his hands. Now it was ruined. Not a single picture had made it through.

He knew John would return, he always did. But what would happen then? This was their first real fight since his return. It used to be that a walk was sufficient to cool John off and return them to normal. But normal had changed…perhaps the rules had too? Perhaps now a walk wouldn't be enough. _Perhaps John wouldn't love him anymore_. The thought had Sherlock curling up into the fetal position.

When he was little, his parents had always been aloof, but there coldness had always been at its most intense when they were angry at him. Affection was for little boys who behaved. Mycroft had learned to play the game, Sherlock had decided to prove he didn't need to. He had learned to make his own way, minus their 'love' and affection. He didn't think he could bare to be without Johns.

He tried to tell himself he was being an overemotional fool, that it didn't matter. He didn't need John. He didn't need anything. The only thing that mattered was the Work. Sentiment is nothing more than a chemical defect found on the losing side, and Sherlock Holmes refused to lose at anything. He could get along just fine without John. _Liar._ He groaned in frustration. He never _was_ very good at lying to himself.

In an act of sheer desperation, he dove into his mind palace. He would delete it, all of it. Every absurd feeling, every held hand and shared kiss. All of them would be wiped from his hard drive and then he would be ok. Then his lies would become the truth. But the thoughts would not fit into his 'delete' box. They kept springing back to the forefront of his mind. Taunting him with their permanence.

He gave up and stood in a flash. He was suddenly so angry. He looked around for things to throw. How could he do this? _Smash_. How could he make himself so important and then just leave?_ Smash_. How dare he? _Smash_. On and on, Sherlock tore apart the flat while his mind whirled in rage and despair.

Finally, he ran out of steam, and sank to the floor. He pulled his knees up close, and rested his head on top. Now John would definitely hate him. He'd just destroyed their flat. Feeling resigned, Sherlock decided to wait there until John came home to break his heart. Such a sentimental, nonsensical saying, but it actually felt very apt in this moment. Something was definitely broken inside of him.

**A/N Their first fight and Sherlock is NOT handling it well. Poor Sherlock :( Hope this was ok, the more chapters I write, the more paranoid I become that the tone wont match up with previous chapters or that the quality will go down hill...**

**Next chapter: John returns! **

**Review! And suggestions for future chapters are more than welcome :)**


	5. Chapter 5

"Sherlock? What have you done to the flat!" John voice sounded exasperated and high pitched in a way that always meant he was a few seconds away from a blow up. Sherlock's shoulder caved in a little further in a barely-there cringe, but otherwise, he didn't so much as raise his head. He was trying to will himself out of his body, but he remained hatefully present.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was questioning now, Sherlock knew he had caught sight of his crumpled form. "Sherlock what's wrong? Please tell me you haven't done something destructive." he asked, and Sherlock thought he sounded concerned, but that wasn't right because John hated him.

"Have you lost your vision John? Or perhaps you're stupider than I thought." The words were cutting, but lacked his usual venom. "Even you should be able to see I've been _destructive_ since you left."

"I meant _self_-destructive Sherlock." John's voice was patient as he sat himself down in front of the huddled Consulting Detective. "Look at me, please." A hint of desperation, but that wasn't right, Sherlock was the one who ought to be feeling desperate right now. He complied out of curiosity.

What he saw baffled him. John was looking at him, but he wasn't angry. He looked…sad. "…Doesn't make any sense." He whispered, half to himself. John heard him anyway.

"What doesn't make sense?"

"You!" Sherlock looked away in a huff, then turned back, "Why? Why are you looking at me like that!" He shouted, then went back to whispering. "I'm supposed to be the sad one. I'm the one who's going to be all alone."

John regarded him quietly for a painfully long time. _This is it, he's just trying to figure out the right way to do it_. Then John let out a quiet, short little laugh. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he looked on the verge of a cutting remark, but John held his hand up to cut him off.

"You thought I was going to leave you. I'm not leaving you Sherlock. We fight sometimes, and I need a little cooling off afterwards, but I've always come back. And I always will."

Sherlock relaxed a little, but couldn't help voice the nagging thought, "I'm a hard man to love, I know I am. You wouldn't be the first to give up, and not the last I should think."

"I'm a hard man to love too, Sherlock." Once again, John halted a protest. "I think you're worth it. Am I?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow comically.

"Obviously." A small smile played on his lips. It was nice to joke with John .

"Good to hear it, you snarky bastard." Sherlock was taken off guard by a sudden kiss. "Now can we please finish this conversation on the couch? Any longer on the ground and I might need that cane back tomorrow." John added with a laugh.

Together they took up their usual position on the couch. After a moment of staring at their joined hands, John spoke, "Look, Sherlock. I know this is all new to you, but you need to trust this." He held up their hands. "You need to trust _us_. That what we have is stronger than any fight. Do you understand?"

Sherlock nodded his head absently. He was staring at the way Johns hand fit perfectly in his and wondering how he could ever have been so stupid as to think himself 'married to the Work.' Eventually, Sherlock thought to ask, "Are you still mad at me?"

"Honestly, I probably should be, but then, I've forgiven you much worse, haven't I?" John responded with a resigned sigh.

Sherlock felt a pang in his stomach. Guilt. It made him snuggle in closer to his blogger. "I'm glad. And I'm especially glad you came back home."

**A/N Whew! They made it through their first fight!**

**What'd everybody think? Anyone have any suggestions? Let me know!**


	6. Coming Soon

**Coming Soon**

**Hey there! Not a real chapter, just a 'coming soon' of sorts. I've been brainstorming new firsts to explore, and I thought I should post the list as an incentive to keep motivated! Anyways, nothing is set in stone, but here's where I think this is going:**

-Telling Harry/Mycroft/Mrs. Hudson.

-Making things public.

-Real date.

-Danger night.

-In hospital.

-Composing.

-Commitment.

**Each part of that list is just an idea, not a chapter, so there could be two ideas in one chapter, one idea could be two/three/ten. You get the idea haha also, this may not be the order I ultimately go with either! If anyone has any suggestions to add/subtract/modify the list, feel free to let me know :)**


	7. Chapter 6

Sherlock wasn't sure how he felt about making his and John's relationship public knowledge. He _liked _the idea of being able to kiss John at a crime scene, or make it clear to any of those women always fawning over _his_ John that he was _taken_. He didn't, however, like the idea of everyone judging them and their relationship. He knew the impulse was irrational, people _already_ thought they were together, and they _already_ judged them for it. Still, this felt like letting them win.

All those nosy, ignorant people who assumed the only thing John and Sherlock could share was a physical attraction. They didn't like to think that 'the freak' could be so human as to actually enjoy a man like John Watson's company. It stung their egos on an unconscious level to think he might befriend someone they believed to be spectacularly average, when he was so loathe to _talk _to anyone else.

Conversely, those same people didn't seem to believe that John could want anything to do with him unless there was sexual gratification involved. Sherlock mentally squirmed a little at where that train of thought lead him. The whole idea of that kind of thing made him feel vaguely uncomfortable. John had never asked for more, and Sherlock didn't know if he'd ever be ready to offer it. He closed the door on that room in his palace firmly for now. Let John think about all that. He would know if and when they were ready.

There were, in fact, a few select people who already knew.

John had told harry over the phone. She was drunk beyond all reason when he called her, but since that was her natural state, John had gone ahead unfazed. Sherlock_ still_ wishes he hadn't been in the room for that phone call. He could hear her hateful words from the couch, and he'd have seen the hurt on Johns face a mile away. She'd spewed her venom for only four minutes before Sherlock had enough and grabbed the phone out of John's hand and hung up on her.

Sherlock hadn't wanted to tell Mycroft, but the git had turned up at the flat uninvited. He had sat in John's chair, umbrella in hand, condescending smile on his face. It had been far less verbal than john telling Harry. Mycroft had merely raised his eyebrows, (_so you've finally come to your senses about Dr. Watson_) received the middle finger, (_bugger off Mycroft, it's none of your concern_) smirked knowingly, (_So you love him then, how quaint_) then excused himself with a rather thinly veiled remark about giving them _privacy_. Sherlock had had to explain the subtext to John later; he'd been looking back and forth between the two with a perplexed look on his face throughout the whole silent exchange.

They broached the subject to Mrs. Hudson together. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the thought. They'd told her the day after their big fight, by way of explanation for the ruined flat. The way her face had shifted, from anger at the flat to sheer joy had been fascinating. Though she'd been rather embarrassing about the whole thing. Hugging them and all that. An hour later she'd come bustling back with cookies.

He didn't think anyone at the Yard would bake them cookies. Well, Lestrade wouldn't mind at least. The others would be intolerable. They weren't what bothered him though, they were always intolerable. What bothered him was how vulnerable he would be making himself to the criminal underground of London. John was kidnapped enough with people just thinking them colleagues and flatmates. He shuddered to think about the danger John would be in if they went public with their relationship. That settled it. He would tell John when he returned from work. When all of London is a battlefield, they would do well to leave their hearts at home.

**A/N Loved writing this, especially the lovely erhm…**_**chat**_** between Sherlock and Mycroft haha Next chapter will be his discussion with John!**

**You get it by now - reviews/suggestions/corrections are all welcome :) **


	8. Chapter 7

"John I'd like to discuss something with you, about _us._" Sherlock began once John had had a chance to settle in with a cuppa after work.

"What is it Sherlock?" John questioned, looking perplexed; Sherlock never wanted to discuss '_them_.'

"It's about us, you know, about us telling other people…" he trailed off in distress. Why was this so hard?

"I get it Sherlock," John cut in, obviously taking pity, "we don't have to take out an ad in the papers or anything, the people who matter most already know about our relationship. The rest of the world can wait until you're ready." John was being so _kind_, Sherlock hated to continue, but John was more important than personal discomfort.

"That's just it John…I don't think I'll ever be ready" He began tentatively.

"Are you…do you regret this Sherlock?" Sherlock thought he'd heard a touch of hurt in the question, but Johns face was purposefully blank.

"No! No of course not John. That's not what it's about." Bloody hell, why did things always have to come out sounding so wrong?

"So you're ashamed of me then? I know I'm not much, Sherlock-" Yes, he'd been right about the hurt. He cut off John before he could entertain that ridiculous notion any further.

"No! No. John how could you, is that really what you think of me? What you think of yourself? Listen to me John." He could see Johns defenses go up, "No, don't get huffy, just _listen_."

"It's not that I'm not ready, or I'm ashamed for some unfathomable reason, it's that it's illogical." He began to pace. "Why put you in further danger, why invite mockery and prying into our lives? Don't we have enough of it already? Should we risk your safety and well-being just so a bunch of people we don't care about can know something that really isn't any of their business? Isn't it like you said John, just a moment ago, that 'the people who matter most already know?' It's just… _safer_ if less people know." He stopped his pacing to await Johns reply.

"Since when have you been concerned about safety?" John asked, and the curiosity sounded genuine. It made Sherlock angry for some reason he couldn't pin point.

"Since it's yours! Since I love you!" Sherlock exploded. He took a few deep breaths, he needed to keep calm if he was going to convince John. He needed to set his _feelings_ aside. Damn it, why couldn't John see it his way? His frustration made his words harsher than he intended, "I know it's terribly small and low on power, but do_ try_ and use your brain for once. _Think_. Think about how many times you've been kidnapped, how many times a guns been pointed to your head. Because I _cared_ about you. The danger would escalate exponentially if anyone knew just how _much_ I care. If they knew how much I love you."

John was very quiet for a long stretch of time, and Sherlock began to hope this would be the end of it, "It seems as though you've put a lot of thought into this," John started, and Sherlock nodded his head. "But you missed something crucial."

"What? What could I have missed?" Sherlock demanded. He'd been completely thorough in his thought processes, he was sure of it.

"I don't give a _damn_ about logic or who's 'business it is' or personal safety. Do you have any idea just how much I love you? I understand where you're coming from, I really do. But I am the luckiest man alive, and call me selfish, _but I want the world to know it._ So it's risky, that's what I signed up for." John finished with a nonchalant shrug.

"I said danger, and here you are" He couldn't help but voice the memory John's words had triggered.

"Exactly. So there'll be an increase in danger-"

"Exponential, John." He cut in.

"John shrugged. "we're going to spend the rest of our lives with guns pointed at us. Regardless of our bloody Facebook status."

"Facebook?" He questioned, perplexed.

"Never mind. The point is, it doesn't have to be today, but someday."

"John, I-" He began.

"Please Sherlock. Just…someday." John interrupted pleadingly.

Sherlock wanted to give in, wanted to see Johns eyes turn bright. But his safety was more important, and so Sherlock forced out a firm, "I can't agree to that. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Okay." John took a deep breath. "Compromise time. Once a year, every year, until the day we die if necessary, we will discuss this again. If you win every time, then so be it. But I refuse to let this be the end of it." After a pause, he added, "And we tell Lestrade and Molly. Soon. They make the list of important people. Those are my terms."

Sherlock studied John. Took in the set of his jaw, the military stance, and the steel in his eyes. He would not bend. Not tonight anyway. Sherlock believed he could win this argument indefinitely, so what was once a year? Better than fighting about it every day. As for telling Lestrade and Molly, it wasn't ideal, but they were trustworthy at least. Finally, he answered, "Acceptable. I suppose."

"Fair warning, I'm every inch as stubborn as you are Sherlock. I don't want to hide you. Hide us. And I _won't_, not forever." He looked into Sherlock's eyes, and let him read his mind: _game on?_

"We'll see." Sherlock smirked in reply. _Oh yes._ _The game was definitely on_. He weaved his hand through johns and dragged him onto the couch with him. John really was such a stubborn, brave little man. No wonder he loved him so much. Sherlock's heart had never stood a chance. And he would do anything; make any sacrifice, to keep him safe. Keep him coming back home.

**A/N So I think there's more dialogue in this chapter alone than in all the other chapters put together twice… It felt appropriate though. Now that Sherlock has a little more confidence in John to stick around despite disagreements, it makes sense he'd be a little bit more like his usual, **_**articulate**_** self. As for the actual argument, it appears they're in a kind of truce for now… I wonder how long that'll last ;)**

**Next chapter, the boys tell Greg and Molly! **

**What did everyone think?**


	9. Chapter 8

It's been two weeks since his and john's discussion and they've yet to break the news to Lestrade. They've been busy with a few interesting cases and haven't had the time. Sherlock is pleased by this, as he doesn't quite see the point of telling him anyways. _Perhaps John has forgotten by now,_ he hopes wistfully. He's pretty sure he won't be that lucky.

He contemplates simply sending him a text, but quickly dismisses the idea. John was not pleased when he found out that that was how Sherlock had let Molly know. He'd gone on for a solid hour about how it was more than a bit 'not good' to let someone who has a crush on you know about your new relationship with another person via text message. Personally, Sherlock didn't see a problem. Perhaps it hadn't been kind, per-se, but it definitely hadn't been _un_kind. He hadn't insulted her once.

**John and I have taken our relationship to its inevitable next step. The constant rumours appear to have been less moronic than previously thought. Don't tell anyone. Is the new body in yet? –SH**

**OH. That's lovely?-MH**

**Oh god, ignore the question mark! It's lovely.-MH **

**Not that I'm not wondering when this happened though-MH**

**Oh god, that sounded like I'm prying didn't it?-MH**

**Just ignore all that-MH**

**The bit about me prying, I mean. Not the bit about it being lovely-MH**

**The prying wasn't lovely! The you-and-John-being-together bit! It's lovely!-MH**

**What I'm trying to say is, congratulations-MH**

**Thank you, now do us all a favour and stop while you're ahead. I believe I asked you a question about the body?-SH**

How could John have called him thoughtless? He's_ thoughtfully_ not pointed out the fact that she obviously _wanted_ to be happy for them more than she actually was. And he'd not pointed out the tediousness of her inane babbling. He'd even said thank you! But even so, John had been in a strop about it for hours.

Still, John was surprisingly cute when he was worked up. And he'd felt guilty enough for chewing Sherlock out that he'd later initiated their longest kissing session yet. That had been a definite plus side. Would all their petty arguments end like that_? Only one way to find out, _he realised gleefully,_ I'm going to need to perform another experiment in order to compare the data._ He smirked as he pulled out his cell.

**John and I have had a change in our relationship. John considers you competent enough to entrust with this classified information. I disagree. Prove me wrong, would you?-SH**

**Wait…WHAT!?-GL**

Oh yes, this was going to be a fun day.

**A/N A little fluff after the heavy conversation last chapter :) Sherlock is such a little shit disturber sometimes haha**

**Next chapter: Date night!**


	10. Chapter 9

Sherlock's day had started inconspicuously enough. They'd just closed up a private case the day before, and so Sherlock had been fresh from a post-case crash that morning. He'd expected John to insist he eat some breakfast, but he'd merely made Sherlock a tea before heading out the door for the clinic. Upon reflection, that should have been his first clue.

The second clue, was when John came home practically vibrating from nerves. Sherlock had been too engrossed in his experiment to investigate further, choosing instead to assume John would work whatever it was out. He watched John fidget around the kitchen in his peripherals for twenty minutes before he gave up and turned to his blogger.

"What is it?" He asked, exasperated.

"What?" John responded, obviously trying to delay.

"You've quite clearly got something to say to me. Do spare us both the agony and just come out with it John." His voice was controlled, blasé even, but inside, his stomach churned. Was there something wrong? Had he forgotten some important event, or not taken some unspoken-yet-expected-by-the-rest-of-the-world important relationship step?

"Sherlock, would you go on a date with me tonight?" John blurted out all in one breath. Definitely not what Sherlock had expected.

"…We've talked about this John. I kept my end of the bargain, your end was to not bring it up for a whole year." He said carefully.

"Texting them was not exactly 'keeping your end of the bargain,' Sherlock." John retorted testily.

"The term was to tell them, you never outlined_ how_. So I did keep my end. Which is why I'm surprised by this suggestion of a date."

"Just Angelo's, Sherlock, please? We go there all the time. No one but us would know there was anything different about it!" John pleaded.

"I just don't see that it's a good idea. What's the point of a date anyways?" Sherlock questioned.

John paused to think about it for a second, "To get to know somebody, to spend time with them, to talk…it's just, I don't know Sherlock! It's just nice!"

"We already do those things in the privacy of our own home." He pointed out.

"I know Sherlock, but it just doesn't feel _right_, me never taking you out anywhere special." John muttered, suddenly seeming shy.

Sherlock took in his flatmate. _Why was this so important to him_? Suddenly it all clicked together. John was a traditionalist. He was a _gentleman_. And here he was, in a relationship, kissing and holding hands, with-out ever having earned it with a date or two. _John feels like a cad. _He had to fight not to laugh. He figured that might hurt John's feelings, and he didn't want to fight right now. In fact, he realized, he'd never been so in love with John Watson.

"Alright then, you ridiculous romantic," Sherlock started, his voice soft with emotion, "Let's go on a date."

John immediately brightened up and with a quick thank you kiss, and instructions for Sherlock to clean himself up a little, John bustled off to get ready. Sherlock couldn't help but shake his head at the enthusiasm, but went off to change out of his robe as requested.

An hour later, they were comfortably ensconced at a table for two at Angelo's. The meal had been superb, as always and talking to John was the peaceful kind of pleasant that always kind of sat warmly in his chest. John looked radiant. He'd worn his most complementary sweater, a lovely a shade of blue, and his matching blue eyes were bright in the candle light. He'd had the most wonderful smile on his face the whole time. Soft and warm to match the sweater. Sherlock was, to his surprise, enjoying himself immensely.

They were just about to start heading back to the flat when Sherlock got the text from Lestrade.

**Got an interesting one for you. Double homicide. You interested?-GL**

Sherlock looked up at John pleadingly, and John smiled wide in response. And then they were off, the excitement of a new case cackling in the air.

It wasn't until a few hours later, the case closed and John had made them a cuppa, that Sherlock remembered they'd been on a date. They'd been on a date and then that text from Lestrade and interrupted. John had seemed pleased at the time, but perhaps Sherlock had misread the situation? Seen only what he wanted to see. Maybe John was upset the date had been ruined. All John's previous girlfriends had considered that grounds for termination of the relationship. He reached out for Johns hand in a panic.

John looked up, startled by the urgency. He took in Sherlock's pleading eyes and the way his shoulders were ever so slightly hunched, as if expecting a blow.

"Dinner and a case, I don't think I could have _planned_ a better date for us." He chuckled, his eyes kind as they stared into Sherlock's. "Don't you think?"

Sherlock responded with a kiss.

**A/N So strange that this began as a one-shot I wrote on a sleepless night and now we're 9 chapters in and still going! Hope you've all enjoyed the fluffy-ness of the last few chapters, because I think the next ones gonna be a BIT of a downer…**

**Next chapter: Danger Night!**

**P.S. Just a reminder to feel free to share any suggestions! This fic could go on forever if I got enough prompts :) well maybe not FOREVER…but…well…you guys know what I mean…**


	11. Chapter 10

He could feel it creeping up on him. The horrible numbness f depression settling in his bones. He knew the warning signs well. After all, he'd suffered on and off his entire adult life. He was still with it enough at the moment to be concerned about John seeing him this way. He'd warned him, that first night at Bart's, that sometimes he didn't talk for days. But that wasn't really a fair warning he supposed. At the time, he'd been intrigued by the ex-army doctor, and didn't want to scare him off before he could deduce him properly. He regretted that decision now. If only he'd told John that night, when they were practically strangers. When the stakes weren't quite so high.

_Perhaps I don't have to tell him now, either. If I could just get him out of the flat before I shatter to pieces. _He would, of course, most likely have to chase John out of the flat with an argument. Not just any argument, either. It would have to be big enough to send him off for the whole night. _John is going to be hurt._ But he didn't want to think about that right now though. He needed to focus if he was going to hold it together long enough to pull it off.

"John. Why are you here?" He snapped out. It needed to be convincing.

"What do you mean, Sherlock?"

I mean, it's a Friday night. You _used_ to do things on Friday nights." His voice was derisive.

I suppose that's true, but I like spending time with you." John answered hesitantly before asking, "Where's this coming from?"

_No more stalling. Time to get to the point_. "As always John, your stupidity is astounding. 'Where this is coming from,' is the fact that I never imagined you to be so_ clingy_. Have a little dignity John. _Please." _

Johns face was turning red from embarrassment and anger. A good start, but that wouldn't be enough.

"Sherlock." John's voice was dangerous now. A warning Sherlock could not heed.

He filled his voice with as much venom as possible as he began to rant, "It was bad enough with you always hovering around me before, with your 'eat something Sherlock' and 'you need to sleep, Sherlock' and 'Sherlock, you can't keep human organs in the fridge.' But at least you used to go out and give me some peace. Am I to be perpetually in your overbearing presence now? Is that the real price of a relationship? Honestly John. Get. A. Life."

John stared at him for a long while, the colour slowly draining from his face, his hand clenching and unclenching, "And that's how you really feel?" He gritted out.

"Yes. Must I repeat myself?" He responded, aiming for bored. The flash in Johns eyes meant he succeeded.

No, you've made yourself perfectly clear." John's voice had turned deadly calm. "You want space, Sherlock? I'll give you space."

He stormed towards the door, but looked back and said, "Don't wait up, in fact, don't wait around at all. I'm done. If I bother you so much, then you never have to deal with me again!" and he was gone, the slam of the door reverberating through Sherlock's empty heart.

He went to the couch and curled up into a ball, waiting for the inevitable to wipe away the pain, wipe away anything but the feeling of emptiness. Was it really just twenty minutes ago he was dreading this 'danger night?' Now, he couldn't wait.

**A/N Oh God I apologize for the angst! If it's any consolation, chapters like this are practically_ physically_ painful for me to write, I just want everyone to be happy with rainbows and sparkles and jam and murders to solve :( **

**You may have noticed John had little to say in this chapter. Partly because he was shocked, partly because he is, after all, a man of action, and MOSTLY because…well…spoiler's sweetie ;)**

**Next Chapter: John shares a secret!**


	12. Chapter 11

Sherlock had been huddled for some time when he heard someone ascend the stairs. _Mrs. Hudson?_ No she was off visiting her sister. Whoever it was, Sherlock wished they would just leave him alone. He closed his eyes, maybe whoever it was would mistake his lethargy for sleep.

"I'm an idiot." John's voice was definitely not what he expected. He hadn't thought John would be back until at least tomorrow afternoon. Surely he hadn't been laying here that long?

"You're a manipulative bastard." John continued, "but that doesn't make me less stupid."

Sherlock wanted desperately to be able to sit up. Defend himself with an act of detachment. But he couldn't even muster that much. So he just kept his eyes closed, cursing John for returning, cursing himself for being soothed by his presence. He wanted to talk, but the fog in his mind was too dense, and John seemed to sense this, or maybe he just didn't care, because he was starting quite the monologue.

John moved himself in front of Sherlock's prone figure on the couch. "So I'm walking down the street," he began, "thinking about what a wanker you are, and replaying everything that happened, when I realise something. You know what I realised, Sherlock? I realised that everything you said, while true, made absolutely _no sense_."

"First off," John began, ticking the points off on his fingers, "You hate when I go out. You always have. Genius needs an audience and all that. Secondly, you have yet to show any signs of unhappiness about our relationship, I should know considering I spent pretty much every waking hour worrying and watching for them. Everything was perfectly fine this morning, and nothing changed between then and now. Well, nothing but your disposition. And once you look at it like that, it doesn't take _you_ to see that 'time alone' or an end to the relationship were not your goals."

"So what was your motivation then? Let's look at the evidence, shall we? You've grown more distant as the days progressed, and there's no case on, so it can't be that. Then there's your pride, and your hatred of showing weakness. Add a history of depression and 'Danger Nights.' And to top all that off, your utter short sightedness when trying to get your way." Sherlock knew he'd be rather impressed with his John when he wasn't so incapacitated later. He wished he could feel that way now, or at the very least find his voice.

"Logical conclusion," John continued, "you wanted me out of the flat for as long as possible to prevent me from seeing you on a bad night, and you played on my insecurities and short temper to achieve it. But you didn't _have to_ Sherlock." He crouched down next to Sherlock's head, and his voice turned soft and quiet as he began carding his hand through Sherlock's curls. "You know I was depressed before I met you. You know I know what you're going through." John seemed to hesitate for a moment before forging ahead, "I don't know if you ever deduced this much, but you should know I held a gun to my head every night before that day at Bart's… and I took the ritual back up when you fell." Sherlock's eyes finally flew open at that. John noticed and understood, "I guess you didn't. I'm sorry."

John took a deep breath, obviously having trouble speaking from his heart, most likely the army man in him was a appalled. "Shall I tell you another secret? Sometimes, I still feel that way. But you have always been my life line, Sherlock, you're presence, your friendship, your love. They've gotten me through nights like the one you're having tonight. The point is, it's okay that this happens, Sherlock, and it's okay to let me be there for you. You've always been there for me."

**A/N I thought about dragging this out for another chapter before John returned, but I just couldn't lol Anyways, John finally gets to have his say! How'd I do? Reviews make my day!**

**P.S. sorry it's been a few days, I was busy with school stuff, and then I kind of descended into a swirling vortex of self-doubt for a couple days… anyone who's read my fic 'there are no tears' and its author note has most likely put together that I sometimes suffer from depression, and such swirling vortexes are unfortunately rather common, but I'll keep doing my best to work through it and get these chapters up for all you lovely people :) **

**Next Chapter: John stays by Sherlock's side! **


	13. Chapter 12

Sherlock had remained on the couch all through the night, not sleeping, not talking, barely holding on. The numbness was all consuming and did not let up until well after noon the next day. It would have been maddening if not for his blogger. John had stayed by his side the entire time. Sometimes he'd whispered soothingly, sometimes he'd just sat in silence. But he never broke his vigil until Sherlock was able to sit up, blinking with the disorientation of a man who'd just awakened from a deep sleep. The first thing he did was give John a kiss. _Thank you._

"You're welcome Sherlock." John responded with a laugh though Sherlock could see now that his eyes were exhausted. Sherlock new John needed to sleep, but he had questions, and until they were answered, there would be no rest for either of them.

John had implied that he was on constant look out for signs of Sherlock's disinterest. _As if that was somehow possible._ John Watson had seeped into every nook and cranny of his mind palace as effortlessly as he had settled into being Sherlock's flatmate and colleague. The idea that Sherlock could ever wish to end this relationship was, frankly, ludicrous.

"John," He began, "you said you watch and worry for signs of discomfort. Which means a part of you expects to see them eventually. Why?"

John seemed to deflate a little at the question. "It doesn't matter Sherlock, just let it go."

"It does matter John! Please, I just need to understand." He begged. "I'll go mad trying to understand."

John sighed and gave in. "You're…you, and I'm just…just, well, look at me." He said, gesturing to himself vaguely. "I don't really expect to get to_ keep_ you, Sherlock. You're brilliant, gorgeous, witty and wonderful. Not to mention tempestuous, moody, rude and so very, very fickle. _And God I just love every inch of you_, but how long will you love me? Just as long as it takes to solve me I reckon. And then you'll be on to your next fixation and where will I be?" John's words were almost desperate, and his eyes filled with a sad acceptance that made Sherlock's heart ache.

In truth, Sherlock was flabbergasted at the message those bittersweet words conveyed. _John actually seems to think __**I'm**__ the catch? That I'm above him? That __**he**__ doesn't deserve __**me**__?_ _How could John have gotten everything so backwards?_ "And you've just been waiting for me to move on this whole time?" He asked, incredulous.

"I'm not a fool Sherlock." John answered, looking resigned. "I knew who you were when I fell in love with you. I knew who you were that first night I took your hand in mine." He paused for a moment, obviously lost in the memory, but then he roused himself with determination, "But you should also understand that this time we've shared together, it's already so much more than worth it. Every moment more is like Christmas. It's all bonus."

"Oh John, but you _are_ a fool." He replied.

"Thanks Sherlock, I feel so much better." John spoke drily.

"You're a fool" Sherlock continued, "for believing-for even a second-that I could ever move on from you." John's eyes were wide with surprise at his words, though Sherlock knew he'd need more convincing. "I'm an addictive personality John. I am always going to want more from you. If anything, you should be worried I'll take too much."

And it was true. Sherlock had always been careless and selfish. For as long as he could remember, he'd taken what he wanted, damn the consequences. And what he wanted these days, was John.

"You never could." John responded, conviction burning bright in his blue eyes. "It's yours anyways. All of it. It's been yours from the start. From long before I knew it myself."

Sherlock smiled at that. He leaned forward, and pressed his lips to John. When they broke apart, he said, "I'm yours as well, love, completely."

John looked at him curiously, "Love? You've never called me that before."

"Do you not like it? I could not…" He backpedalled, suddenly unsure.

"What? No you idiot, of course I like it!" John protested. "I just didn't think you were one for pet-names."

"I didn't think I was either, but I think it's appropriate-_ in private_. And if you like it then I shall continue." Sherlock explained, keeping his voice clinical, as though discussing an experiment, but he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

"Shall I call you something as well then?" John inquired teasingly.

"If you like." He said, keeping his voice casual though he was pleased at the reciprocation.

John smiled, "Alright then, goodnight _dear_. I know you don't need sleep but I'm knackered." He said with a yawn.

Just then, Sherlock got an excellent idea. He kept his face as straight as possible and said, "Goodnight kitten."

John made to turn away, but Sherlock's words suddenly sunk in and he whipped back around to face the detective. "What!?" John spluttered. "Did you just call me_ kitten_?"

"Well of course I did, really John, learn to listen." _Oh this is a fun new game. Look how red he's turning._ He thought with a certain amount of childish glee.

There was a heavy pause as John appeared to be counting to ten, and then he said in a tight, clipped tone, "Let me rephrase: _why_ did you just call me kitten?"

A mischievous grin spread across Sherlock's face as he responded, "Well it seemed fitting, you're practically _made_ of them after all." And then he shoved John towards the stairs with a "Get some rest" and headed towards the couch for some crap telly, completely ignoring the huffy ex-army doctor behind him.

**A/N oh Sherlock, you bad thing you! Teasing poor John like that. Haha This chapter wasn't going to end so fluffy, but the idea struck me and I just couldn't resist. **

**So we haven't really addressed John's lack of positive body image yet, but we will get there, I promise! It was supposed to be in this chapter but then I got sidetracked... lol**

**Next Chapter: Sherlock explains to John that he is an adorable hedgehog made of kittens all wrapped up in a cuddly sweater …Maybe not those words specifically, but you get the picture ;)**


	14. Chapter 13

It had been two days since the danger night incident and things had returned to normal. Relatively speaking of course. But something was still nagging Sherlock's mind. _'I'm just…well, look at me. He'd said, gesturing to himself vaguely.' _The memory was accurate down to the last detail, of course. But it still felt surreal. _John can't really think like that, can he? _The thought unsettled him.

Sherlock had planned on catching a few hours sleep on the couch, but he abandoned the idea in favor of his favourite night time activity. He soundlessly climbed the stairs and slipped into John's room. The first few times he'd done this, it had felt wrong, like an invasion of privacy, though he'd been too curious to stifle the impulse. He'd moved past such feelings by this point though. It was reassuring and soothing to see for himself that John was safe and relaxed. Besides, it wasn't as if John would ever know.

He crouched down next to John's head, wanting to observe him more closely. He supposed objectively speaking, John was not extraordinary looking. His face was lined. His blonde hair turning just the tiniest bit gray near the temples. He was short, stocky. Sherlock didn't just look though, no, he was a man who really _saw_.

What he saw when he looked at the lines on John's face was the joys and sorrows of a man unafraid to live life to its fullest. A man accustomed to the great triumphs and tragedies of life. He was a doctor, a soldier. A man of action, not some dullard with a nine-to-five job who'd never ventured beyond his front yard. He had lines of hardship streaked across his forehead. Lines of laughter around his eyes. Sherlock loved every line and wrinkle.

When he looked at the gray, he saw John's humanity. The way he cared so much. He worried; about his soldiers, his patients, his friends and family. About Sherlock. It was this singular quality that won over most of Sherlock's clients who were too put off by his own harsher nature. The grey hair spoke volumes toward John's deeply compassionate nature. Sherlock admired every follicle.

To Sherlock, short and stocky meant sturdy. Dependable in a fight. Solid in the face of any sudden change. Lower center of gravity meant a distinct advantage against a taller opponent. It was also a physical representation of John's inner nature. Unobtrusive until forced into action. Criminals make a fatal error in underestimating him. The best part though, was he was a perfect height to rest his head upon when they embraced. Sherlock enjoyed John's build immensely.

In short, John was more than merely handsome, he was beautifully crafted perfection. He wondered how he could ever express these feelings to John. He knew most people would express these things verbally, but comfortable with emotions as he'd become over the past few months, it all still seemed too sentimental. There was physically, but the door was still firmly shut on that one. So what did that leave? He wished he could ask John.

He swept out of John's room as silently as he had entered it in search of his violin. When he found in the living room beneath the pile of papers from their last case, he immediately began to play meditatively. He went on for a while like that, playing on auto-pilot as he attempted to riddle out this new puzzle.

His thought process was interrupted though by a sound of distress coming from John's room; a nightmare was beginning. He cut his song off immediately and switched to a lullaby John had once remarked on as his favourite. The sounds of thrashing immediately died done and a smile appeared on Sherlock's face. He knew now how to tell John. He would compose a song, just for John, and then he would understand. He would pour his heart and soul into it, and then he would give it to John. _Perfect. I really am astoundingly clever sometimes_, he preened.

**A/N One of these days I ought to get over my deep seated hate of math and figure out just how many months this fic has spanned so far….**

**The song will crop up again later in the story, though I don't think for a little while yet. I have plans for that particular chapter ;) **

**(that sounded like I was implying smut, didn't it? I promise you guys this one thing, I will never write smut. Never. I read it, but that's as far as it goes for me…I'm blushing just thinking about it!)**

**Next chapter: In hospital! Gasp!**


	15. Chapter 14

"You absolute idiot! John!" He shouted in a panic, though he knew his partner couldn't hear him.

John would be alright, he was sure of it. Or, he _wanted_ to be sure of it. He _wanted_ to rationalize the situation. And part of him was able to recognise that though the wound was deep, he was applying pressure, and Lestrade had ensured an ambulance was en route. John-_and he for that matter_-had survived worse. Rationally, all of this should have made him calm. But his mind refused to listen.

Instead he just kept replaying the horrible scene over and over again. He'd been so wretchedly stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ One moment everything had been under control: crime solved, criminal cornered, with Lestrade on the way. The next, a loud noise had pulled his attention, just for a split second, and suddenly John Watson had found himself with a_ literal_ knife to the back, and Sherlock had found himself with a_ figurative_ knife to the heart.

And he'd thought-just for a moment- that he might lose his John. "Stay with me…please." He whimpered softly, as he was ushered out of the way of the paramedics.

**A/N Sorry for the long break between upgrades, but you know, exams, holidays, friends coming home for said holidays, a touch of writers block…all the usual excuses haha Anyways, I apologize for the shortness of the chapter, especially after making you guys wait so long! This story is,as you know, all about whats going on in the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes, and not much was going on in there this chapter except...JOHN IS HURT. PANIC.**

** I'm thinking the next chapter should be pretty long though, and posted pretty soon as well! **

**Hopefully this chapter was a little bit worth it though, I know it's a bit angsty, but let's just say this is going to put a few things into perspective for our lovely genius detective ;)**

**Next chapter: An unscheduled re-opening of the 'going public' conversation!**

**Reviews would make a lovely post-Christmas gift lol**


	16. Chapter 15

Sherlock was lost. He'd never felt so unsure in his life. He didn't know what to do with himself and his hands kept flying out and away from him in distress. Ghosting over his arm rests, the sheets on the hospital bed, John's face. They had minds of their own, as did his eyes, which darted about the room searching out God knows what. _What am I going to do?_ He couldn't handle it here, not alone with his racing thoughts. Not with the beeping monitors and his fidgeting hands and John's absolute stillness at the center of it.

John was going to make a full recovery. The doctors had all agreed. But it had come close. Far, far too close. All he could think about was how unbearable it would be if his John was gone forever. Life wouldn't be worth living. _No, if John ever dies, I'll simply follow suit._ Mycroft would just as certainly try and stop him, but no one could make Sherlock Holmes do a thing he didn't want to do. And he did not want to live without John. Ironic really, that John should be forever trailing after him in life, and now he was prepared to trail after John in death. He would've laughed if it hadn't been so profoundly unfunny.

As if sensing his dark thoughts, Mycroft came in and laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You lead dangerous lives little brother. You're going to have to learn to handle this." He advised, rather pompously Sherlock thought.

"What the hell do you mean, _handle this_." He whispered snidely, gesturing to the doctor's unconscious form. "There is no _handling_ this, Mycroft."

"Perhaps you are correct." Mycroft allowed. "In any case, I'm sure you will manage. After all, you are a Holmes." He started for the door, but paused just short of it. "If I may impart one last piece of advice, dear brother, life is short. Too short to live in fear of all the terrible things that _might_ happen. You may wish, instead, to start focusing on the good things that _have_ happened." And then he headed out the door.

_Oh perfect. Time to debug the apartment again._ There was no other explanation for how Mycroft knew about his and John's disagreement. Begrudgingly, he knew that Mycroft had made a point, and he would definitely be re-opening the conversation once John was back home. But for now, annoyance at Mycroft was a hell of a lot easier to deal with than all-encompassing fear for John's well-being.

**A/N okay so still pretty angsty…oops :s I had meant for this to be longer than it wound up being but I decided to divide it into two chapters instead of putting it all into this one. We should be back on the fluff train next chapter though, unless the characters demand differently…they can be a little pushy :P**

**Oh Mycroft, how I adore you! Giving Sherlock the verbal smack upside the head he needs, as always. **

**Next Chapter: John comes home!**


	17. Chapter 16

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. After what felt like an eternity in the hospital, he and John were finally home. He didn't like hospitals, never had, but they were utterly unbearable when John was added to the equation.

Nice though it was to be back, he found he still couldn't quite shake the concern that had ate away at him in the hospital. John needed to be alright again. _I shall just have to take care of him until he is._ He realised, though not without some trepidation. The last thing he'd been responsible for was a goldfish when he was seven. And that had died in less than three days. _But that transpired because of a lack of focus, so if I keep all of my focus on John, all of the time, I should do all right._ Inspired by this new plan of action, Sherlock leapt off the couch where he'd been sitting next to John.

"Tea John? Blanket? Food?" He questioned, looking critically over John before beginning to pace. "I know you said I'm not to use the oven unsupervised but perhaps an exemption might be made under these circumstances…"

"Dear..."

"or I could order in, if you'd like that-"

"Sherlock?"

"I could have Mrs. Hudson up? She'd probably be more useful…I'm not very good at this taking care of people am I?"

"_Sherlock_." John's voice sounded tight, _that isn't good._

"Are you in pain?" At least that was something he could fix, and so he began frantically searching for the medicine. After a few wild moments of swearing to himself as he upturned the flat, he demanded, "Where's your medication! Blast it all I know I put it somewhere-"

"Sherlock Holmes!" John's 'captain voice' cut through his thought processes like a knife.

"Hush John! Can't you see that everything is UNDER CONTROL!"

"Yes, sounds like it." John muttered bemusedly. "Sherlock, dear, relax. I'll let you know if I need anything, I promise. But you need to stop worrying, I'm okay."

Sherlock was nothing if not a one track mind, however, and he refused to be coddled and side tracked away from the problem at hand. He merely stared at John until his blogger sighed and began ticking off each answer.

"Tea would be lovely. I don't need another blanket, the one you gave me ten minutes ago is fine. You are absolutely _not_ using the stove, or bothering poor Mrs. Hudson. Take-away will be lovely. I'm a little sore, but I'm not due for more medication for another two hours. The medication is on the table, exactly where you put it, and finally, yes, I can see that everything is under control. _Can you_?"

"I just, I want you to be okay John. If I think about you not being okay I can't breathe and the walls start moving in and it is all so irritating isn't it? This irrational fear but it's just sitting there in my chest and every time I close my eyes I see you bleeding and-" Sherlock could feel himself begin to panic.

"Whoa there. Breathe. In and out. That's it. Come here." John soothed, beckoning for him to rejoin him on the couch.

Sherlock wanted to be close to him, but he was hesitant. "I don't want to hurt you." He admitted.

John chuckled softly, "I'm not made of glass you know, and if you just rest your head on my lap I won't be in any pain. "

Sherlock complied. He lay there for a while, revelling in the safety and comfort of the moment before he whispered, "I almost lost you."

"And I almost lost you." John replied, just as quietly. "But neither of us were lost, we're both still here. We ought to count our blessings Sherlock." John murmured softly as he carded his hand through Sherlock's hair. The same soothing tactic John had used on his danger night. _Best be careful about this, wouldn't want to develop some sort of Pavlovion response…or do I? That would make an excellent experiment and it __**would**__ include lots and lots of John time…_He felt himself relax as he began planning out the logistics of his oh so important new experiment.

He turned his head so that he was looking up at John, and found John gazing happily down at him in return. And it was all so beautiful, with the light streaming in from the window, and John's eyes so full of love, and the moment warm with the domesticity of it all. He was so content, that he didn't even feel the knob on the door turn inside his mind palace. The room where he had all locked away every thought and urge regarding a physical relationship with John was opening, and the great Sherlock Holmes, who always prided himself on a thorough knowledge and awareness of his own mind, didn't realize until the slam of the door hitting the wall echoed through the halls of the palace, as John's smile threw the door wide open.

**A/N So sorry guys :( don't you hate it when real life gets in the way of fanfiction writing? It feels like ages since I've written anything, so hopefully this was up to par…**

**Just to let you all know, this story is winding down as far as I can tell, though I can't say yet how many chapters are left, seeing as I don't know myself lol So last call for any suggestions for this story, though future story suggestions are always welcome ;)**

**Next Chapter: a decision is made!**


	18. Chapter 17

Sherlock stood by the window, violin in hand. His composition for John was nearly complete, but it was lacking something. It needed a perfect ending, he just couldn't figure out what that was. He began to play the song through yet again, hoping to discover its conclusion. _It really is my best work_. He thought proudly as the music began to fill the flat.

It was slow at first, cautious_, meeting John at Bart's, figuring each other out_. Then it sped up, _the thrill of a chase, a post-case high_. It slowed down again, just slightly, and turned playful and lively_, banter and jokes "I don't have friends, I only have one." _Then the music, sudden as a leap off a building, turned mournful, _I was so alone_. Next, anger began to bleed into the notes, sharp and abrupt _shouting and anger and John was so angry. I was so angry, at Moriarty, at me, for doing this to him. _The next transition was a slow one, _for the change from anger to happiness to normalcy had indeed been a slow one_. But the music eventually turned cautious again _dancing around each other, it should be normal again, why isn't it normal?_ And then finally back to joyful. _A hand in his, a kiss on his lips, I love you, I love you, I love you. _

He stopped playing. He had filled it with all the intensity and joy he felt when he thought of John, every twist and turn of their lives together, but he had caught up now. How did he go forward when he himself didn't know what lay in store? He threw himself on the couch and began torturing the violin in retaliation. John would be home any minute now anyways.

Closing his eyes, he turned his mind to the other pressing John-related matter. John had almost died. Sherlock had done everything possible to keep him safe, and still he had wound up in the hospital. He had been so sure, so sure he could protect him. As much as he hated to admit it, it made him think about John's wish to let the world and their mother know about their relationship. It would make John happy, which would make him happy. And if they were in danger either way…? If they _were_ to meet their end tomorrow, wouldn't it be better to know that John had been happy as possible today? That settled the issue.

John chose this moment to come bustling into the flat, hanging up his coat and asking Sherlock if he fancied a cuppa. Sherlock watched him for a moment. _I don't want us to die tomorrow though, I want to be with this man forever._ And this thought opened up a whole new avenue of thinking. Him and John retiring together. Moving out of the dangerous city. Growing old together. A memory stirred, of a summer cottage in Sussex his family used to visit when he was a kid. _John would like that, I think. And I would finally have the time and space for my bee's._ He smiled at the thought. _This, this is the future I will create in my song. Hopeful and sweet and enduring. I can't promise him a happy ending, but I can at least show him how much I want one._

"John?" He inquired when his doctor had returned from the kitchen with their tea.

"Mhmm? What's on your mind Sherlock?" He asked, intrigued by Sherlock's strange tone.

Sherlock hesitated a moment, wondering how to begin. After a moment of thought, he decided to simply come out with it. "I think you were right. I think we ought to stop treating our relationship like a secret. You are _no one's_ secret." He paused. "In fact, I find I'm rather proud to say you love me."

John's face paled slightly, this was obviously not what he'd expected of the stubborn detective. "Sherlock, are you sure? Not that I'm not thrilled, but, this is a big deal. Are you really sure you've thought this through?"

"Yes. When do I ever fail to think things through?" He took one look at the teasing in John's eye and hastily added, "Don't answer that."

Suddenly, Sherlock found himself with a lap full of John. "Christ Sherlock, you call me the romantic." John laughed then said, "And just for the record, I'm proud as all hell of you as well."

And then they were kissing, and Sherlock didn't want to stop, not ever, but he did have some very vital information for his finally healed love. "John, I think now might be the right time to tell you all about this room I have in my mind palace…"

**A/N So this sort of feels like an ending? I had thought maybe I had one or two chapters left but…this kind of feels like everything 's wrapped up… **

**I'm gonna see what I can do about another chapter or two, because if this sudden ending took me by surprise, I'm gonna hazard a guess and say none of you lovely readers saw it coming either :s Maybe I'll do like an epilogue?**

**Also, I'd like to take this moment to thank every single person who took the time to read this story, and especially those who were sweet enough to review! You guys are all so awesome :)**

**(Oh and thank you for all the wonderful reviews Ellcrys! You are registered as a guest so I've never been able to thank you in a pm or anything)**


	19. Chapter 18

Sherlock opened his eyes and slowly set down his violin. He eyed John anxiously waiting to see his response. Sometimes, when he finished playing a song, John would clap. Other times, he would exclaim brilliant! Amazing! Wonderful! Both reactions made him glow with pride. He was hardly used to such a receptive audience. His parents had been proud of course, but it had mostly been in an, 'let's see –insert name of family here- son do that' kind of way. They had put almost unbearable pressure to be perfect, to be the best, on his shoulders.

Mycroft had put less pressure on him the few times he heard him play, but his older brother hardly had anything resembling an understanding of, or appreciation for, artistry. No, Mycroft could commend him on his precision or technique, but he couldn't _feel_ the music and by extension, couldn't really enjoy it.

John did enjoy his music, however. Immensely. Even if all too often the end of a song would be greeted with "It's four in the bloody morning! Go to bed you nutter!" yelled down from John's room upstairs. Well, what _was_ his room, Sherlock thought with quite a bit of smugness. These days he was formulating plans of turning the room into a lab.

The feeling of smugness began to die though, under the continuing silence. "What did you think?" He finally asked, but still John was silent. He simply stared at Sherlock, his eyes stormy and his face lined, as if he was trying to work out something very difficult and allusive. Sherlock's heart sank. _What was I thinking, this was a terrible idea. John didn't get it. He didn't like it. I worked so hard and what for?_ He felt his face fall as thoughts whirled through his mind. Suddenly he didn't want to be in the room any more, he just wanted to go somewhere quiet and sulk. "You don't like it. Fine. That's…fine. I'm just going…somewhere. Not here. Bye John." He stammered out, face flushing a slight pink. He began to back out of the room, but John's voice stopped him.

"Sherlock stop. Come back…please?" John said in a voice Sherlock couldn't deny. Damn John and his voice of persuasion.

"John I'd really rather not talk-"He began, but John held up his hand and he fell silent.

"Stop panicking dear, I loved it." And Sherlock watched as a smile lit up John's face. "It's the most amazing, wonderful, beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. You are so…"John paused, as if the English language was not sufficient to convey his feelings. In the end, he decided on the closest word he'd ever found to describe Sherlock. "so…brilliant."

Sherlock felt relief wash over him in a wave, and returned the smile back at his John. "But then why the silence?" He questioned.

John looked kind of sheepish, "I was just trying to figure out exactly what I did in my life that was good enough to warrant such perfect happiness." He admitted.

"Our happiness has hardly been perfect love," he laughed. John joining in good naturedly for a moment, but the laughter died down when Sherlock suddenly became very serious. "Look, John, there's something I've wanted to talk to you about." He began nervously.

"Go on Sherlock. You just composed me a love song. At the moment I think you could tell me you'd murdered half of London and I'd forgive you."

Sherlock smiled weakly at the attempt to lighten the mood, began, "What I just said, about our happiness not being perfect, that was true. It hasn't had the chance to be perfect, because, as much as I hate to say it, The Work gets in the way."

Here John cut it, "You know I think the work is just as important as you do. Besides, it's what brought us together in the first place."

"Yes," He allowed, "but it also tore us apart. _For three years_ John. And sure, we're together now, and we are very happy together. But we also spend half our time worried sick over each other. Just a few weeks ago I had to sit in the waiting room of a hospital, and wonder if I'd ever see you alive again. The Work is dangerous John, and that is something I've always accepted. But it's different now, because I, _we,_ have something to lose." He paused for a moment, then seemingly switched gears. "However, as much as it pulls us apart, it keeps us together. It's a mutual interest, a common goal. And let's face it, you'd kill me if I was forever bored and shooting at the walls. Not to mention, the great service we do for the city. Including the Yarders, who couldn't solve a murder if the weapon and killer were standing in the room over the body." Sherlock added with no small amount of distaste.

John paused a moment then said, "I agree with everything you've said so far, I really do, I'm just not getting your point."

Sherlock sighed, "_The point_ is that as much as I want to, I can't guarantee a happy future for us. I can't even guarantee we'll live through tomorrow. But what I can…well, what I'd _like_ to…"He huffed in exasperation and tried again. "I just want you to know that I want us to have our happily ever after." _Oh Christsakes what a cliché. Was that really the best I could do? _

"Is that what the end of the song was? That bit where it turned all wistful?" John asked.

"You caught that bit huh? Very good John." He praised, hoping John wouldn't take it as patronising, but John just smiled and nodded. Pleased, Sherlock continued, "Yes, the song was us, our lives and experiences together. And the end was what I hope we will experience together."

"I hope that too dear." John offered, his voice soft.

"I had hoped you'd say that." With that, Sherlock began to rummage through the stacks and stacks of paper piled onto the table at the moment. "There's this cottage I used to go to, in Sussex, truly beautiful." He began explaining excitedly, "Quiet, out of the way. You'd love it."

"I'm sure I would…" John said, sounding perplexed as to the sudden change in topic but too used to it to question it.

"Ah-hah!" Sherlock exclaimed loudly as he finally pulled out the stack of legal papers. "If you wanted, John, you could sign this, and we could own it. Together." He spoke confidently, handing John the papers, though his insides squirmed.

"Sherlock…are you saying what I think you're saying?" John asked, sounding dazed.

"Well I mean it's not for right now. As I said a few moments ago, The Work is still vital to both of us…but perhaps in a few years we might feel differently. I could semi-retire, help out the Yard via the internet. You could set up your own practice if you wanted. I have several hundred different experiments I'd like to perform involving a bee colony, which have never been applicable to living in London." Sherlock's mind raced with all the possibilities. "But only if you want to. I'd be happy anywhere, so long as you were there too. I just want to be with you." He said, and he meant it. But he did feel rather partial to the Sussex plan, so he turned pleading eyes toward his Doctor and gave his best puppy dog expression.

John laughed, "Yes, I can see how _impartial _you are. You needn't give me that look, dear, of course I'll sign!"

Sherlock laughed too, and watched gleefully as his love signed the papers. It was official, all his hopes and dreams for the future, all the experiments he wanted to try, all the happiness of a long life with John, everything that made up the heart of the world's only consulting detective, had a home.

**A/N well that was a surprisingly long chapter! And there's going to be an epilogue!**

**Basically I got an idea for the epilogue first, but then I had a request to show John's reaction to the song and I figured why not do one more chapter to wrap up everything and bridge the story to the epilogue a little better? Essentially, further proof that nothing I write is ever ACTUALLY done. I just think it is until someone comes along and is like "what about this?" And then I get all excited and BAM story update lol**

**So here you are everybody haha hopefully this was the closure everyone was looking for :) I'll do my best to have the epilogue up soon as well!**

**P.S I wrote this kind of late at night so forgive any errors I'll edit tomorrow :P**


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It's a beautiful day. The sun is warm and the breeze is full of the smell of flowers and the buzzing of bees. Sherlock smiles to himself. _Such fascinating creatures, bees. Trying to figure out just how they manage to fly is proving a more allusive puzzle than anything Moriarty threw my way._

He looks up at the sky, and realizes another morning has passed while he was busy on experiment #62. He begins heading back up to the quaint little cottage up the pathway, removing his bee keeping kit as he goes. By the time he gets to the house, he looks like himself again, with a trail of various garments strewn about behind him. He never could do anything without leaving a mess in his wake. John will gripe about it later, he knows. But it will be of the long-suffering, good natured variety. Well, he's pretty sure. It's been forty three years together and still John remains the greatest mystery Sherlock ever set out to crack. He puts the bees to shame.

He walks into the house through the kitchen door and heads to the living room where he knows John will be working at his laptop. He moves silently and hovers in the doorway, just watching. John's hair has gone completely grey, unlike his own, which has unfortunately gone a very pure, comical white. John calls him his Einstein. John's other signs of age, however, are much like his own, he moves a little slower, and his face and hands are wrinkled. But John is still, utterly, undeniably, _John_.

Everything from his posture to the way his eyebrows knit together as he concentrates to his two-fingered approach to typing. Sherlock had known his feelings for John would never diminish, but he had thought he might grow accustomed to them at some point. That it would cease to take him by surprise every time his blogger-technically his biographer now- came into view. But it seemed this man was going to take his breath away until he didn't have any left in his lungs. Sherlock frowned at that thought; he didn't like to think about a time when one might be alive while the other wasn't. He didn't want to contemplate a time apart.

"How's the biography coming?" He asks, watching as John startles slightly. "Filled with overly-dramatic daring escapes and sappy romantic drivel I'm sure."

"Oh hush. You know you're chuffed about having your brilliant deductions immortalized in print." John smiles, far too used to Sherlock's bluster to take any offense.

Sherlock simply hums non-committedly and flops down on the couch.

"Speaking of brilliant deductions, how _are_ the bee's this morning? Make any astounding discoveries?"

"Well I did find something quite interesting" His face immediately lights up and his eyes take on that familiar gleam.

John smiles, sensing a long monologue on its way. He takes advantage of Sherlock's brief pause for breath to say, "How about I make us some tea and sandwiches and you can tell me all about it?" Sherlock gives a nod of ascent and John happily bustles off to the kitchen. After all, it's not everyday Sherlock agrees to lunch without a fuss.

In truth, Sherlock's mind was elsewhere. His eye had caught on the simple gold band on his finger, and he had gone from happy at the memory of the day John had put it on his finger, to overwhelmingly worried about whether John regretted the decision. He was in full panic mode in the time it took John to get from the living room to the kitchen. _Is this all too boring for him? Does he miss all the old excitement? It's true I've settled a bit, a direct result from decades in John's calmer company and a few years in the country. I'm not the man I used to be, and perhaps John doesn't love the 'me' I am now. _

He begins twisting the ring back and forth on his finger in his anxiety. "John!" He calls out. The shorter man runs into the living room, and takes in the fretting man on the couch. Then he smiles and makes his way over to the coach, Sherlock automatically sitting up to accommodate him.

And he does the one thing he needs to do, the one thing he's _ever needed_ to do, and Sherlock feels his fears melt away. John takes his hand.

**A/N This was surprisingly hard to get right! Hope you all enjoyed my first ever foray into Johnlock romance :) I've had a ton of fun writing this fic, and I've been beyond blown away by all the people who have been so supportive and kind! So thank you all again 3**

**P.S. So you might not hear from me in a bit :( I'm gonna take some time to go back and edit everything, starting from my first story, "Heartless, They Called Him," all the way through to "Home."**

**I do have another story in the works but it's definitely not something I can just write-as-it-comes-to-me like I usually do, it really needs a lot of forethought and planning (yikes). It's something totally different from my usual so it's taking me a while. It came to me very suddenly, and demanded to be written, so I'm listening, but I really don't know if I'm ever even gonna feel good enough about it to post it… **

**Who knows, maybe I'll get so frustrated I'll have to write a whole bunch of one-shots just to de-stress haha and then you WILL be hearing from me! I guess that'll be the mark for how well it's going :P**


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